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Jordan Heron - The Vanity Card Series

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What a difference a day makes...

One day, you're on top of the world. Everything's coming up roses, as they say. The next, well, it's not all bad, but it does bring back some perspective.

Saturday, we headed to a racing quarterhorse auction. We did that last year, too. We didn't intend to buy anything last year, but we were forward thinking (or stupid) enough to bring the horse trailer. "Just in case!" We bought a horse.

This year, we started him a little late, waiting until the x-rays of his knees looked good. Training was going well - all seemed on track. Right up until he got shin splints. Not exactly a career-ending injury, but he needed five weeks off or so. We gave him that, because we're in this for the long haul, for him and for us.

Fast forward to last Saturday. Shin splints seemed healed. The horse now has his gate qualification, both required training times, and is scheduled for his lip tattoo (where they put the registration number) for the next day. That's the last step - he will be a bona fide official race horse, just waiting for an opporunity to race. And, best of all, he still has his testicles. He seems to be a young stallion who's behaving himself. If he can run, we have a foundation stud for our yet-to-begin breeding operation.

The partner and I (the human one) are at the auction. On a high of expecation, we look at all the yearling fillies. Our racing boy is going to need a girlfriend in a few years, and we want a foundation broodmare that we have raced. We pick something out in our price range. Not the hottest looking horse at the show, but we think she'll fit the bill nicely.

On top of all this, we're looking to going fox hunting the next day, something we haven't done together yet this fall. Life doesn't get any better than this.


We get news that the race horse is officially ready to race, but now has a splint bone fracture. He may be out for the rest of his first year, not having even gotten one race in.

Next, the partner and I each take a fall, in separate incidents at the hunt. I get off lightly - I fall off due to a tack failure, and I'm limping, fairly obviously, once all the adrenaline wears off. The partner has her horse fall on her - and kick her in the head on the way back up. While I'm trailing the horses home to Dunnville, and feeling my leg and back stiffen up with each mile of sitting still, she's strapped to a backboard in emergency in Kitchener. (Spoiler: She lives.)

Saturday, we are feeling like the cat's meow, as it were, living our equestrian dream. Sunday, we're broken and bleeding, and owning a couple of flashy but non-earning hay-burners.

But here's the secret. We always believe that luck that turns bad that fast also turns good that fast.

Next year, we won't fall down, and our racehorses will win a fortune.
Just wait and see...

28 September 2011 AD
28 September 51 JHE

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